Mr Darcy's Christmas Bride
by Elizabeth Goodrich
Summary: Miss Elizabeth Bennet could not be more enraptured to help plan the Christmas Ball at Netherfield Park if it were not for one person, the sour, dour Mr. Fiztwilliam Darcy. Completely opposed to socializing in general and Christmas at large, his sullen attitude and refusal to enjoy Elizabeth's favorite time of year leaves her vowing to convince him of the happiness of the season.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 part 1

"Charles, do you truly mean to tell me that you were in earnest when you declared that you would allow a child to choose the date of your ball?" Miss Bingley demanded as she laid down her book, staring daggers across the sitting room at her older brother.

Her irritation at the very notion did much to silence the other conversations in the room, bringing all eyes upon her in a shocked moment of silence. And to think, Elizabeth had just been thinking that it was becoming rather dull, being trapped inside Netherfield Park with her hosts, Charles and Caroline Bingley, their eldest sister Louisa Hurst and her husband, Elizabeth's dearest sister Jane, and of course, the ever solemn Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. They were confined to one of Netherfield's many sitting rooms, content to pair up in quiet conversation, as Jane and Mr. Bingley had, or read, as Caroline, Louisa and Mr. Darcy were engaged in, or inwardly curse one's knitting needles and lack of patience for such pastimes, as Elizabeth had reluctantly chosen to do. Another stitch slipped and she had to bite her cheek to keep from sighing in exasperation, nearly ready to give up on the useless piece and find a book instead.

"And why should I not?" Bingley asked with some surprise. "I daresay Miss Bennet's youngest sister is quite capable of the task. Besides, there is little enough difference as to which date she chooses, is there not? What is one day over the next when in such pleasant company?" He finished with a small smile directed at Jane, who blushed prettily from her nest of blankets on the settee. It was her first trip downstairs since being ill, and none were taking a chance that she would catch any sort of chill.

Especially Charles Bingley.

They had been completely engrossed in their own quiet conversation for the past half hour, and Mr. Bingley returned to it posthaste, clearly loathe to relinquish the growing intimacy forming between them. Caroline watched their exchange with growing annoyance, her narrowed gaze flicking back and forth between her brother and the object of his affections. Finally she returned her gaze to her book, clearly put out that he would speak no more on the subject.

 _Mr. Bingley would be a good match for Jane, even if I daresay his sister does not seem to approve,_ Elizabeth thought. _I am certain that she would eventually fall in love with my sister, though, for how could she not? Jane is perfection in itself. Unlike this sad, lumpy excuse for a scarf._

Surprisingly it was Darcy who spoke next, his head raising from his book to look at Elizabeth with the same disquieting intensity that had become his habit since her arrival at Netherfield Park. "I suppose that some would prefer a ball to take place sooner rather than later, simply for the opportunity to socialize in such a congenial setting."

Elizabeth nearly dropped _another_ stitch upon her needle at these words, for she had not thought that Mr. Darcy enjoyed balls or anything else of a social nature. Indeed, it rather seemed that he generally took pains to avoid any appearance of congeniality, instead brooding quietly in corners or retreating altogether. Even in such intimate circumstances as they currently found themselves, he preferred to lend all of his attention to the book in his lap, despite Miss Bingley's repeated attempts to engage him otherwise. He had been equally antisocial the previous evening, ignoring her many entreaties to play cards and instead choosing to pen letters of business, much to her disappointment. That fact that he had roused himself enough to take part in this particular conversation was somewhat of a shock, and as his dark eyes met hers, Elizabeth could only wonder at what true meaning lay behind his words.

"On the contrary," she replied with careful amusement, "I should think that a later date would be of more of a benefit than one sooner. After all, it would be wise for Jane to completely recover from her illness before such an event, as I expect that she will be much in demand as a dance partner. She generally is."

Jane blushed most becomingly and raised her hands in laughing protest. "To make such a decree and, base the date of a ball entirely upon the state of my health is quite ridiculous, Lizzy! I should think the date would be chosen without any consideration toward myself at all."

"I would never dream of it!" Bingley cried, catching her hand on the pretense of tucking it beneath the blanket once more.

Elizabeth hid a smile and, taking pity upon her sister, fastened her attention once more upon Mr. Darcy, whose somber expression indicated that he quite regretted having spoken at all. "Be that as it may," she said, "I suspect the matter will be settled in a more practical manner than out of concern over the health of our oldest sister. Given the time of year, I will not be surprised in the least if Lydia chooses a Christmas ball. After all, it is only a matter of weeks until the holiday, so the timing is amiable. Indeed, I would be quite surprised if she chose another date."

Jane roused from her blankets once more, her face shining with delight. "A Christmas ball! Why that would be perfect, would it not?"

"Christmas?" Miss Bingley repeated the word doubtfully, exchanging a frowning with Mrs. Hurst, who seemed likewise surprised by the pronouncement. "Do people in the country celebrate Christmas with much enthusiasm?"

"I would be surprised if Miss Bennet did anything without enthusiasm," Darcy replied, and picked up his book again, to all appearances looking as though he intended to go on reading, conversation or no. "Especially Christmas."

Elizabeth stiffened, her shoulders going going back in indignation, for while Mr. Darcy's words were benign, his tone was something akin to censuring.

"Pay him no mind," Bingley commented, rising to throw another piece of wood on the fire, though the room was already warm. "Darcy has no love for Christmas."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1 pt 2

"Why ever not?" Caroline protested. "The more I think upon it, the more I find the idea enchanting. Tell me, Eliza, what droll things comprise a 'country Christmas'? I am most intrigued."

That there was as much ridicule as curiosity in the question was not lost on Elizabeth, who could only laugh and reply, "Why, quite more than I think you would suspect. The festivities begin long before the actual holiday with a series of parties and celebrations. Christmas in Meryton is filled with a such gaiety that one can scarcely breathe from the sheer busyness of it all. Not very unlike a Christmas in London, I am certain."

"I cannot see how one can even begin to compare the two," Mrs. Hurst said with a sniff, bending over her tatting with a look of rather fierce concentration.

"Nor why one would want to," came the laconic remark from over the pages of his book. Mr. Darcy never so much as raised his head as he spoke.

Bingley laughed at this. "I highly suspect that should we continue upon this vein, we will be counting Darcy out of the festivities altogether. Unless I miss my guess, I suspect he would rather engage himself with nearly anything else, rather than face a ball at Christmas."

Elizabeth barely kept herself from wondering out loud just how much of a loss that might be, considering his negative attitude towards socializing in general. Her eyes slid from her knitting in her lap to his face, which she could only just see from beneath her lashes. She was surprised to see that he sat stiffly, holding his book up from his lap almost as though it were a shield between himself and the room at large, keeping both Bingley's gentle teasing and probably the very idea of a Christmas ball at bay.

I wonder what he thinks is so terrible about a dance at Christmas that he would rather hide from it like a little boy, Elizabeth mused. Perhaps a ladylove slighted him at such a gathering in London, or, more likely, he constantly has to flee the enterprising mamas of London's high society, each intent on their own daughters capturing him like a stuffed goose for dinner. Ten thousand a year is a grand prize in any circle, and no season is more romantic than Christmas. If one believes in that sort of thing, which I highly doubt Mr. Darcy does.

He had been a puzzle to her since she arrived at Netherfield Park several days prior. One moment cold and aloof, Mr. Darcy was the epitome of a proud landowner looking down his nose at those beneath him, just as he had done when they first made their acquaintance at the Meryton assembly, and the next, he could be a completely different man. He had actually attempted to engage Elizabeth in conversation on more than one occasion, singling her out with small comments and inquiries that went far beyond polite discourse, venturing even into warmer subjects such as her favorite memories of her family, and her sisters in particular. He had even with a humorous tale about his younger sister, Georgiana, that left Elizabeth wondering how aloof he truly was.

It was all very confusing.

Now, though, he had withdrawn from the room completely, barely paying attention to the room's other occupants, aside from a telltale tightening of his expression as he stared at the pages of his book.

He is not reading, Elizabeth realized with a start. It was true, his eyes were still, as though he was looking straight through the page, instead of at it, leaving Elizabeth unable to even guess at the subject of his thoughts.

Around her the conversation continued, Mr. Bingley plying Jane with questions about past Christmas seasons in Meryton, and Jane answered with a quiet contentment, for she had always loved Christmas in particular. There was simply something about it, the chill weather, roaring fires and hot peppermint tea, surrounded by evergreen decorations that lifted her spirits. This excitement shone upon her face, making her more lovely than ever, and Bingley could not hope to hide that he was enraptured by this side of Jane, hanging upon her every word.

But Jane was too recently ill to continue much longer, and she was already growing tired. Elizabeth took pity on her sister and began to take over the conversation, answering Bingley's questions about the festivities of Meryton and the Bennet family traditions when Jane grew quiet. But even as she spoke, Elizabeth kept a keen eye upon Darcy, noting that not only had he grown more silent, his entire posture had changed to one of defeat. His shoulders slumped and he leaned back in his chair, lowering his book again to his lap.

This talk of the holiday had left him very melancholy, if she were any judge, and that concerned her for reasons she did not wish to examine too closely. She was certain that Jane would simply put it down to Elizabeth's intolerance for ill humors of any sort, for she dearly loved to laugh, and melancholy was the opposite of such spontaneous outbursts of happiness.

"Perhaps we had best change the subject, for I see this one has brought too much excitement for poor Jane to bear. Indeed, perhaps it is time to take her back upstairs. What do you say, Jane? Are we making you too weary to continue?" Elizabeth asked at last. The topic had done much to animate the eldest Bennet sister, but Elizabeth feared that she had spent too long downstairs already. However, she could not help but smile when her suggestion was rebuked.

"Of course not, Lizzy! I am having a grand time, and could not bear to go back to my room just yet. Pray, Mr. Bingley, tell me of your family's Christmas time traditions."

And so it was the discussion continued, eventually accompanied by Miss Bingley playing upon the pianoforte. Elizabeth settled back to her knitting, but her mind was troubled as she bent to untangle her yarn, for it bothered her that anyone should feel saddened by her favorite time of year. And it was quite clear that Darcy was not only troubled, but positively haunted by the holiday, given his pale countenance and the way his hands shook as he turned the pages of his book.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Upon their arrival home two days later, the topic of Christmas could not help but come up again, this time from an unexpected quarter. It seemed that Jane and Elizabeth's cousin, a Mr. William Collins, had written in their absence about his desire to visit in a week's time, and stay through the duration of the holiday. This news was greeted with rather mixed feelings, for the announcement gave them little time to prepare for such an extended visit, and it did not help matters that they had never before made his acquaintance. Indeed, the only way they knew of him was because the whole of Mr. Bennet's estate was entailed to him, which meant that Mr. Collins was the next male heir in line and would inherit everything upon Mr. Bennet's demise.

This was, of course, a less than ideal situation, and Mrs. Bennet felt the implications of such an arrangement very deeply. Indeed, she had much to say upon the subject after her dear husband read Mr. Collins' missive aloud, including doubts that they should even allow him to intrude on their holiday at all.

Mr. Bennet immediately put a stop to such talk, informing the lot of them that Mr. Collins was to be included in any celebratory plans that occurred during his stay, and that ended the matter, at least to the extent of complaints within that good man's hearing. Mrs. Bennet, though, did not feel the need to stifle her verbosity upon the subject once Mr. Bennet left the room, even though he was still well within earshot, as she well knew.

"To leave matters open to this extent is absolutely uncalled for. He made no mention of how long he intended to stay, and I like very little that he has the expectation of staying with us at all. Mark my words, he will be doing a calculated inventory of the house to ascertain exactly what he is to get from it when Mr. Bennet is gone, with no care at all to what happens to the rest of the family."

"Perhaps he will leave after the Netherfield ball," Elizabeth said, by way of soothing her mother, but such a sentiment brought no comfort without some sort of guarantee of the matter. Besides, how could they anticipate such a grand celebration, or Mr. Collins' much anticipated departure afterward, when the date of the ball had not even been set?

All eyes turned toward Lydia at this point, who gave a pretty pout for she had been trying with all her might to determine a date that would ensure the attendance of the most officers stationed in Meryton. There was one favorite in particular, Mr. Denny, who could not be persuaded to impart his schedule to her, as he claimed that the regiment could be dispatched at any moment.

"Lydia, you must decide soon, especially if it is to be a Christmas ball!" Jane protested with such vehemence that the entire assembly turned toward her in surprise. Indeed, she gained several long considering glances that the eldest Bennet girl blushed crimson with embarrassment over her outburst, or rather, the cause of it.

"This has something to do with the tradition of the Christmas tree, and the tower of packages beside it, I am sure," Elizabeth said, attempting to give Jane some sort of refuge within the conversation. "In truth, I am in raptures just thinking about it. I do wonder what the Bingleys have in mind for everyone."

"Christmas tree?" Kitty asked at the same instant that Lydia demanded, "Presents?" leaving Jane giggling over their girlish enthusiasm while Elizabeth sought to explain.

While the idea of a Christmas tree was not entirely unheard of, only Charlotte's family had deigned to try one two years before, but the effect had seemed rather dismal. Her father and brothers seemed oblivious to the desired grandeur, for the tree they had cut and brought into Lucas Lodge had been somewhat spindly, and the decorations hung sadly upon its branches, to say the least. There had been no room for the sweetmeats or dolls that Queen Charlotte had included upon her tree, and thus the results were less than satisfactory, and they had not tried again the next year.

However, while at Netherfield Park, Jane and Elizabeth had been treated to lovely stories of the beautiful Christmas trees that now graced the homes of several members of London's high society, each a paragon of inspiration as to the delights of the Christmas spirit. The branches bore strings or nuts, raisins, sweetmeats and candies, alongside dolls, skipping ropes, jacks and other toys. Gifts of clothes and jewelry for the older young ladies had been wrapped in handkerchiefs nearby, ensuring that every child had something on Christmas.

"Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were quite enraptured with the idea, and went into great detail about the magnificent custom," Elizabeth told her younger sisters, delight sparkling in her eyes. "Small items are tied to the branches, and then the tree is lit with small tapers, giving it a soft glow. From the stories that they told, it is quite a delightful sight, and they wish to have one decorated before the ball, so that every guest might have a small trinket or two."

Kitty and Lydia exchanged glances. "Presents!" they breathed as one.

"I shall send word at once that the ball must be at Christmas!" Lydia exclaimed, to which Kitty added a speechless, though vehement nod.

"I can only wonder what gift you are hoping for from among the branches," Elizabeth murmured to Jane as their sisters flew from the room to share the news with their parents. "It will be from Mr. Bingley, of course."

Jane could voice no reply to such inquiries, and instead merely blushed again at Elizabeth's gentle teasing. Elizabeth laughed and gave her a hug, then left her to her daydreams as she went to see what Mrs. Bennet would say about the new tradition of a Christmas tree invading her dear Meryton.

"The Christmas Ball at Netherfield Park will be the crowning jewel of this holiday season!" Lydia exclaimed in satisfaction as she sat down immediately to pen a note to convey her intent to Mr. Bingley, who had been so kind as to allow her the honor of choosing the date in the first place.

The idea of a Christmas Ball so pleased Mrs. Bennet that she said little for the rest of the week that was negative. In fact, she rather liked the idea that they would be able to show off not only their home, but their village in the best light possible to their uninvited guest. To her way of thinking, Mr. Collins would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Bennet family was civilized, in that they celebrated Christmas well.

However, Elizabeth could not help but experience a flurry of trepidation in her heart that she dared not reveal to anyone else, even her beloved Jane. As much as she loved Christmas and thought it fitting that the ball should be put forth on such a date, she could not erase from her memory the way that Darcy had looked that night as he had retreated so completely from the conversation. He had been quiet for the remainder of their stay, and surprisingly, Elizabeth had come to miss their verbal sparring matches. To have him retreat from the field over something so trifling as a mention of Christmas was troubling.

No, it was not merely the retreat that was troubling, but the mysterious and unknowable reasons behind it. Certainly Mr. Bingley had not been surprised at Mr. Darcy's withdrawal, which indicated that his friend, at least, knew something of the reasons behind Darcy's reluctance to celebrate, but Elizabeth saw no way in which to ferret the information out. Why she even wanted to know so badly was beyond her, as she typically did not meddle in the affairs of others, and especially not when they pertained to rude men.

Still, now that she had come to know Mr. Darcy a little better and engage in conversation with him in something of a more intimate setting than the Meryton assembly, she had found that he often remained silent rather than insult Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst, even though Elizabeth could see merriment at their expense dancing upon his face. It had been a welcome sight on those rare occasions, for she felt that perhaps, just perhaps, Mr. Darcy was not as ridiculously pompous as she had first assumed, and _perhaps_ he had not meant to insult her, either.

Then again, he was also more apt to abandon his party and retreat to the library than endure such mindless chatter over society gossip that Miss Bingley and her sister frequently treated everyone around them to, another point upon which Elizabeth agreed with him. It did no good to speak of others, ill or otherwise, behind their backs and Elizabeth found that she had little patience for the practice.

Still, she found herself wishing that she could discuss Mr. Darcy with someone, anyone, who she could be certain would keep her confidences and give her advice as to how to help him. She immediately thought of Jane and Charlotte Lucas, her best friend outside of the family, but Jane was too enthralled with Mr. Bingley to be much use, and Elizabeth was afraid that Charlotte would be just as lost Elizabeth already found herself.

And so it was that she set out to ignore the issue, pressing herself to her household tasks, letting the others chatter around her while she paid little attention to what it was they discussed. However, in her mind's eye she was again in the drawing room of Netherfield Park, studying that dark head bent over his book and wondering once more over Mr. Darcy's pale cheeks and troubled eyes.

 _How is it, that a man such as he does not know the joy of Christmas? Perhaps he has only forgotten what a delight it is to relax and enjoy something, as busy as he always is with writing letters and attending to an estate the size of Pemberley. And yet, he is not at Pemberley now, so why should he not enjoy the season?_

She nodded to herself, uncaring if any saw the action and wondered at it. _I declare that this year Mr. Darcy will enjoy his Christmas in Meryton, whether he likes it or not._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3 pt 1

Mr. Collins turned out to be much more engaging than the dour churchman they had all been expecting. To begin with, he was still young – only twenty-nine years old and still possessing a great spirit for fun despite his profession. His very first night in the Bennet household proved that he could hold his own in conversation, and that he had a rather dry wit, which the younger girls did not quite appreciate, though Elizabeth found him amusing. So it was she was delighted to invite him to Meryton with them the following day.

"While I know it is rather chilly, the walk is good exercise, and Mama has requested that we purchase several things for Christmas. If you are of a mind to come with us, we would enjoy showing you about Meryton, humble though it is."

Mr. Collins smiled at this and seemed much enthused at the idea. "It does my heart good to see so much joyful anticipation of the holiday. Let us be off then, for I would very much enjoy the opportunity to become better acquainted with you and your lovely sisters."

The walk was certainly brisk, but the group was laughing and in high spirits when they arrived, for Mr. Collins had been entertaining them with tales of a certain cat that had adopted his patroness' daughter in his hometown of Hunsford. Miss Anne De Bourgh was entranced with the mangy creature, and her attempts to hide the flea-bitten monstrosity from her mother were quite diverting. Elizabeth had laughed to the point that she had paused to wipe tears of mirth from her cheeks, and it was with great surprise that she looked up to find herself the subject of careful regard from none other than Mr. Darcy, standing in the doorway of the shop they were about to enter.

Mr. Bingley and his sisters were accompanying him, and Jane looked as if she would positively swoon, so happy was she by the encounter. Elizabeth shared a smile with her as the two groups came together.

"You seem quite merry," Mr. Bingley said, once Mr. Collins had been introduced.  
"Pray tell us what has you so amused."

Mr. Collins needed little encouragement, and launched again into his story that seemed perhaps less funny on the second telling, though worth a smile all the same. But Darcy was clearly not amused by either the encounter or the story, for his expression remained carefully neutral, even somewhat grim when he ascertained at whose expense this story was.

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh is my aunt, and she and her daughter are very dear to me," he said finally at the story's conclusion, "I hardly think that she would thank you to be telling that story to perfect strangers."

The response was a verbal slap that startled the entire assemblage. They had, after all, found the story amusing, and now were faced with the uncomfortable feeling that they ought not to have laughed. Poor Mr. Collins became rather red in the face, and even subservient in his repeated apologies, for he was not one to risk his patronage so casually. But Elizabeth was incensed that Darcy would make such a pronouncement on what was clearly a harmless story that in no way made Lady Catherine look a fool and said so quite clearly.

"I think, Mr. Darcy, that you are too sensitive on behalf of your relations and should do well to apologize, for you have put Mr. Collins into a rather uncomfortable position with your comments," she said by way of conclusion.

Perhaps it was the way she stood, arms crossed, with empty basket slung over the one, staring him down, for Mr. Darcy had the grace to say finally that he had, perhaps, overreacted. Mr. Collins winced in the face of this forced apology, for now had he not only revealed his patroness in a less than shining light, but also his newly-met cousin had exerted influence over Mr. Darcy, and in public no less, to such a degree as to force _him_ to apologize to Mr. Collins. It was shocking on all fronts.

"Please, Mr. Darcy, do not apologize, for you were entirely accurate in your original assessment. I only meant to reveal the charm and humor that is often found within Rosings Park, and within Miss Anne in particular, for she is a rare jewel among ladies. Indeed, had I but thought, I might perhaps have saved that story, and told another that would have shown Lady Catherine in better light. In fact…"

And he was off and running, telling another story, this one no less amusing, but about another member of his congregation entirely, one who was less likely to have relatives present in Meryton that might object to the story being told.

Elizabeth could not help but note that Darcy was by no means listening, that in fact he stood with lowered brows, apparently deep in thought over something. Drawing a step closer, she asked quietly so that none of the others could hear, "Are you well, Mr. Darcy?"

He started, for he had not expected her so close. "Miss Bennet…I beg your pardon. You were saying?"

"Only if you are well. You seem somewhat out of sorts," Elizabeth replied softly, looking at him with a gentle frown.

"It is nothing," he said, and seemed little inclined to speak further.

It was a rebuff, and an unpleasant one at that. Mr. Darcy had always seemed very interested in speaking with her previously, and this silence now was not only uncomfortable but concerning. She was starting to worry whether she had offended him with her previous words and had opened her mouth to ask when Lydia and Kitty raced up, having been down to the market and back already in the course of this conversation. Elizabeth looked upon them with amusement for they had drawn back with them several red-coated officers. Their very presence served to reveal precisely what the girls had been shopping for, aside from material goods, and that they had evidently enjoyed considerable success in their task.

They had not, though, found the one item for which they had been looking.

"There is no mistletoe! It is all sold!" Lydia cried with a pout that was aimed directly at the officer next to her. This good gentleman appeared to be positively enamored with her, and looked for all the world like he would go out posthaste to fetch some, were one to simply point him in the right direction.

Bingley looked troubled at this. "I had not thought that decorations might be hard to find this late in the season," he declared. "I should have thought of it. Indeed, the first celebrations will be upon us soon." One glance at Jane's wistful face had him vowing to ask every shopkeeper to save them some, should they receive any more before Christmas arrived.

"They usually cut it in November," Elizabeth informed him. "Though I know a place where there might be some. 'Tis a little distance from here, but not many venture out that far to cut it, and there could still be a good supply."

"You mean Miller's Woods?" Kitty exclaimed then frowned. "But old Mr. Miller only ever liked you, Elizabeth, and will not allow anyone else upon his farm or within his woods to find out."

"Then perhaps if Miss Elizabeth would escort us, we could rely on her relationship with this Mr. Miller to allow us the privilege of cutting a small amount for the sake of the ball," Bingley exclaimed. "If you think he would be amiable to such an arrangement," he added almost as an afterthought.

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. It was endearing to see the lengths that Bingley would go to in order to please dear Jane. How could she refuse such a request, when doing so would mean that there would be no mistletoe for the ball? "I suppose it can be arranged, if you could join us for the outing tomorrow. I know that Mother cannot possibly spare us the day after."

"Tomorrow then!" Bingley proclaimed.

"Unfortunately, we shall have to decline to join you," said Denny, one of the red-coated officers as he exchanged glances with his comrades. "We will be called to inspection in the morning and shall be busy in the afternoon as well."

"I, too, will not be in attendance," Darcy said. Elizabeth rounded on him, knowing in that instant that no one else had heard him, for there was no protest from any save herself. It was a good thing too, for she knew full well that if Darcy were to absent himself from the expedition, Bingley might well call the whole thing off just for the sake of being a proper host to his friend.

"That hardly seems fair," she said, choosing to address him in low tones, in hope that she might be able to change his mind before Bingley realized there was any such protest from this quarter. She raised her chin that she might look Darcy in the eyes. "You can clearly see that Mr. Bingley has his heart set upon going, and would enjoy it much less if you were not along for the fun. Why do you not wish to go? In truth, Mr. Bingley is the most in need of any of us, for the decorations are being obtained for _his_ ball, which the rest of us are only attending."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 3 part 2

She had him boxed in, for the only way he could dispute this would be to say in front of the entire party that he had no intention of going to the ball at all, and so there would be no benefit in his having anything to do with it. To admit such a thing now would be to risk being overheard by Bingley, and Elizabeth was fairly certain that Darcy did not wish to impart this news to his friend just yet. Though why he had spoken at all, knowing that she would be the only one to hear him attempt to excuse himself from the outing to Mr. Miller's farm was a question she had no true answer to.

Regardless, he was at an impasse. She saw the battle within his eyes and knew with a certain twinge of triumph that she had guessed correctly. Mr. Darcy had no intention of going to the ball, but he also had no desire to say so until it was too late for him to be convinced otherwise. He would likely beg off an hour before the event began, in such a way as to leave no time at all to dispute it.

"I had not thought you so eager to avoid socializing that you would disappoint your friend in such a manner. Pray, tell me why you wish so heartily to avoid the ball?" she asked quietly as she inclined her head toward the walkway, intending to follow the others, now that they had drifted away toward the marketplace to see what decoration they _could_ find.

"I would think that my presence at such an event would have little impact on your enjoyment of it," he said. "As such, would you care to tell me why you are suddenly so interested in forcing me to endure such nonsense as this?"

Elizabeth stopped, her heart clenching in her chest at this pronouncement. Indeed, it affected her even more than his careless words at the Meryton assembly had, when he had denounced her as a potential dance partner. At least, in that instance, he had been speaking with Mr. Bingley, whom he considered a confidant and had not intended that Elizabeth hear the slight, whereas now, he told her how little she mattered directly to her face.

"I would never attempt to force you to do anything, Mr. Darcy. I merely thought that perhaps I should instruct my more tolerable sisters to leave room upon their dance cards," she replied, adjusting her coat to cut the sudden chill that had nothing to do with the December wind twisting down between the buildings and tugging at her bonnet and skirt.

She resumed her walk, telling herself she did not care whether or not he came, or had anything to do with the ball at all. Simply put, the action of Mr. Darcy had nothing to do with her, and she would do well to remember such.

A display in a nearby shop window caught her eye, pulling her up short. There was a dollhouse there, its occupants artfully arranged as though they were sitting down to Christmas dinner. The scene was captured in exquisite detail, right down to the gifts beside their plates. She caught her breath and stared at the reminder of so many warm family Christmases, then could not keep herself from wondering what had happened to cause Mr. Darcy such reluctance about the holiday. Whatever it was, it must have been truly awful if it had left such a permanent blight upon the season that the rest of the world looked forward to with such joy.

 _Whatever it was, it is clear that Darcy wishes to have no part in any of the celebrations. It was arrogant and prideful of me to think that I could ever_ _ **make**_ _him enjoy it, or even persuade him to give it another chance._ Elizabeth swallowed hard, and forced her feet to move forward. The others were a long way ahead of her now and she was acting foolishly. Mr. Darcy could do whatever he liked without any more attempts from her.

Somehow he had come to be walking alongside her, staring at his feet as he went. They walked a few moments in silence before he offered, "May I carry your basket for you?"

Taken aback, she nearly stopped walking altogether. "Thank you, but no thank you. It is not heavy."

Properly rebuffed, Elizabeth expected Mr. Darcy to leave her side, either by speeding up to catch the rest of the group, or duck into a shop, as a man was perfectly free to do on his own, allowing her to catch up on her own. When neither occurred, she began to rethink the situation, for it was clear that his manners truly were better than she at first thought.

"I apologize that you heard my ill-timed and foolish words at the Meryton assembly," he finally said in a low voice. "I did not mean to insult you, and had I known you a little better, as I do now, I never would have uttered them. In truth, they were cruel and untrue, and I never should have said them at all. You must accept my sincerest apology, Miss Bennet."

"Why? Neither my face, nor figure, has changed since then, and I distinctly recall you saying that I was not handsome enough to tempt you."

He looked away, his shoulders stiff. "I misjudged you."

"Now you think me handsome? Have you perhaps acquired a new quizzing glass that I did not see before?" she could not help but tease. It was positively ill-done of her, and she knew that to be so forward was, perhaps, a mistake, but she was fairly certain he would accept the question for the gentle tease that it was. "At any rate, I accept your apology, for it would not be fair to hold your blindness against you."

He turned to look at her in something akin to shock before a smile spread across his face.

Elizabeth was speechless.

It was the first true smile she had seen him wear, and it transformed him. The usually somber man, while still handsome, suddenly became the most amazing thing she had ever seen, his eyes crinkling around the corners and a dimple flashing in his cheek as he looked at her with happy humor.

Enraptured, she smiled back, forgetting for a moment that they stood upon the street, in full view of all that would look at them. Mr. Darcy blinked at her, as though really seeing her for the first time as well. They stood there for a moment, neither wishing to be anywhere else, when suddenly a peal of laughter from before them broke the spell.

Startled, Elizabeth pulled her gaze from Darcy's to find all three of her sisters looking at her, with Mr. Bingley beside them.

"Are you coming, dear one? Or shall we wait for you up ahead?" Jane asked.

Elizabeth looked back at Darcy to find that the genuine smile was gone, wiped from his face as though it was never there, leaving him to appear as he normally did.

 _Perhaps that is not entirely true,_ Elizabeth thought, noting the way his eyes continued to crinkle when he looked at her, as though the happiness was still there, but hidden. _I can scarcely believe that this moody man gave_ _ **me**_ _such an expression of bliss mere moments ago. I simply must make him do it again, even if to convince myself that it actually happened._

Elizabeth took a deep breath and spoke. "Mr. Darcy, I would consider it a great favor to me personally were you to join us in gathering mistletoe tomorrow."

There, she had said it. She wanted to close her eyes and disappear as the silence between them lengthened. When he spoke his voice was soft, and when she turned, the eyes that looked at her were unsure. "Why?"

"Why?" She repeated the word, for of all the things he could have said, she was entirely unprepared for this one. "Because we all rather enjoy your company, I suppose."

He laughed, the sound pulling her sisters' attention once more. Elizabeth joined him after a moment, realizing how ridiculous her words must sound after she had just been so careless with his feelings. However, she was relieved to hear that he could, in fact, laugh at himself at all.

"You are not skilled in telling falsehoods, Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said finally when he had regained his composure. "But the sentiment seems sincere, and I thank you for that." He shook his head. "I shall likely regret asking this, but if I were to take part in this expedition, will I likewise be forced to submit to an entire round of holiday frivolity?"

"Would it be so terrible if you were?" Elizabeth asked, pausing at the door to another shop, one that sold thread and had several colors that she needed.

He stopped with her, and for the first time since the Christmas ball had been brought up, she noted that the strain around his eyes had eased somewhat, and that a little of the pain had gone out of his expression.

"I am not certain."

Mr. Bingley called Darcy's name from before them, for the rest of the group had arrived alongside the carriage from Netherfield Park, where their previous purchases were being loaded into the trunk strapped to the back.

"I take it you have to go?" Elizabeth asked with a touch of regret, for it seemed like such ill timing to be pulled apart just when things were finally becoming so amiable between them. Why, she might even dare to say that they may even become friends if things were to continue in this vein, although it was a strange thing to hope for. Indeed, she had rarely heard of a man and woman becoming actual friends unless they were married. The realization gave her pause.

"I take it you have to shop?" he asked with a nod at the store behind her.

Elizabeth smiled then. "Duty calls," she replied quietly, with perhaps a touch of wistfulness to her voice. They both pretended not to notice if it was, indeed, there.

Darcy's eyes upon hers were warm. Soft. "Duty calls," he agreed, though he made no move to go.

The door opened behind her and a bell that had been fastened to the upper corner jangled merrily, breaking the spell between them. They were forced to step apart, allowing room for those exiting the establishment.

"I will see you tomorrow?" she pressed him with her hand upon the door.

He hesitated a long moment then smiled and nodded once. Perhaps it was a bit of a cautious smile, but it was a smile all the same, and Elizabeth felt as though the sun had finally come out.

"Tomorrow, Miss Bennet," he agreed.

Mr. Bingley called once more, and they both turned to see that Elizabeth's sisters had already parted ways with him, entering another shop nearby. There was truly nothing else to do but allow Mr. Darcy to continue on his way, so Elizabeth gave him one last look, a small wave and darted into the warmth of the shop. She watched him walk away through the window, her cheeks alight with happy warmth despite the chilly air outside, though she could not have explained why she was blushing, nor why she was so euphoric that he had agreed to come with them to Mr. Miller's woods the next day.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 4 part 1

The promised snow began later that night and continued to fall until morning. After the initial excitement over the first true snowfall had faded, worry set in at the Bennet household as the morning wore on and their expected visitors still had not arrived from Netherfield Park. The snow had come down hard in the night, leaving behind what appeared to be the beginnings of deep drifts.

"Pray tell me that we will not be snowed in!" Lydia moaned, her face pressed against the glass.

"There is hardly enough snow for that. Now cheer up, for I am certain I see them coming over the distant hill," Elizabeth replied. She did not wish to admit that she, too, had been equally concerned of such a fate until she had glimpsed a horse and carriage through the trees.

Their arrival was announced with the merry ring of sleigh bells that someone had thought to attach to the horses' harnesses, giving the entire procession a bright and cheerful air. To their surprise, there was not just one carriage, but two, as it seemed that Charlotte and her brother had been to call upon Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley already that morning, despite the weather.

"We went with Mama," Charlotte confided to Elizabeth as their various wraps were sorted out and freshly heated bricks were placed within the carriage to keep its occupants' feet warm. "She absolutely will not give up in trying to interest that dear Mr. Bingley in me, though it is painfully obvious where his heart lies. All the same, I cannot help but be grateful for her meddling, for it gives me a chance to get out and do something enjoyable for a change. It was even more fortuitous when Miss Bingley decided to invite me on their outing with you today. She said that she was certain you would enjoy the company, but she did not sound very considerate when she declared such. Lizzy, have you done something to upset Miss Bingley?"

Elizabeth shrugged, having become familiar enough with Caroline's dramatics that she was unconcerned with her approval, one way or another so long as it did not affect Jane's budding relationship with Mr. Bingley. "Not that I am aware of, but I shall try to ensure her every happiness if it will make you feel better. In truth, I am surprised you were able to get away from Lucas Lodge today," Elizabeth murmured back as she wrapped a heavy muffler around her head.

"Mama was not at all certain that we should come along with you on your outing today with the rate the snow has been falling. I convinced her that not only could we drop her off at home, but that it would be wise to send Freddie with the group, in case we need someone to climb up any trees."

"A wise thought," Elizabeth replied, as Charlotte's younger brother's climbing skills were well renowned throughout Meryton. "I imagine that Lady Lucas also realized the merits of having her youngest out of the house for some time, doing a strenuous activity such a gathering decorations. I know that Mary and Kitty become testy enough if they are unable to go outdoors for too long, and it appears as though we have quite a bit more snow in our future. I cannot imagine how it must be for a boy not yet twelve to be forced indoors for any length of time."

Charlotte gave her a knowing look. "Oh, Lizzy, you cannot attempt to convince me that you are not just as bad yourself. Why, you are the most irritable thing if you cannot go for your walks."

Elizabeth feigned affront at these words, then laughed in agreement with her friend.

"Besides, I can hardly imagine Mr. Darcy or Mr. Bingley climbing any trees, can you?" Charlotte went on wickedly and Elizabeth had to cover another laugh, for Mr. Darcy was regarding their whispered conversation with an inquisitive eye.

It was then that Mr. Collins came into the room, and noting the presence of Charlotte Lucas, suddenly took an interest in adding himself to the group. As a result, there was quite a need for the two carriages after all. They set off with Mr. Bingley, his sister and Jane in the first, attended by Kitty and Lydia enthusiastically inserting themselves between the young lovers. It was clearly evident that there was no room for anyone else, causing Miss Bingley to attempt a retreat from this carriage when she discovered that Mr. Darcy would not be joining her.

Much to her irritation, it was too late to make changes, for the second carriage had already been filled. Mary, Charlotte and Mr. Collins took the open seats, leaving Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth somehow sitting alongside each other, and young Freddie Lucas perched excitedly beside the driver.

The arrangement might have been awkward, had Mr. Collins not once again graced them with his excellent storytelling and monopolized the conversation entirely, albeit this time in a much more appropriate manner, without any stories of his patroness or her family.

Elizabeth soon realized that her dear friend was becoming quite smitten with the clergyman, and hung upon his every word. Charlotte's laughter rang out again and again as they traveled, contagious in its own right, and soon they were all having a merry time.

As the conversation grew between Mr. Collins and Charlotte directly, Elizabeth shifted slightly in her seat, leaning close to Mr. Darcy as she managed to whisper, "It's rather a shame you were not able to gain a seat in the other carriage, for I believe you had one who was quite counting on your presence within."

He gave her a sharp look that was equal parts surprise and hurt before responding just as quietly, "Why would I have wanted to ride in the other carriage? I am exactly where I had intended to be."

The sentence was a mystifying one indeed, for if he truly meant such a compliment, there could be no mistaking his attachment. In truth, he had not spoken a word to either Charlotte or Mary, and from the looks he had occasionally given Mr. Collins, establishing a friendship with that gentleman was not his goal either.

Thus, it stood to reason that Mr. Darcy was there for her. Elizabeth.

 _Only Elizabeth._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 4 part 2

The thought shocked her, veritably curling her toes within her boots and she flushed before giving him a genuine smile. He merely tilted his head, studying her quietly.

 _He means only to be flattering, and perhaps kind_ , Elizabeth assured herself, but could not escape the feeling that she might be mistaken. Or at least hoped that she might be, for her heart had taken up a quicker rhythm, and for a moment she almost forgot how to breathe.

Another look at Darcy convinced her of his sincerity, for when he looked at her, she could have sworn that if ever one's eyes were laughing, his were. It was this inclination that brought a glow to her heart, and yet, she could scarcely believe that it was happening.

 _Mr. Darcy is not romantically interested in me,_ she silently lectured herself as she forced her head to turn, glancing instead out the window at the snow-covered landscape. _He wished to sit beside me only because I am the one that asked him to come along on this outing, not because he has a special regard for me. Indeed, that is nearly as preposterous as the idea that he might enjoy himself at the Netherfield ball, when he has so clearly set himself against it. It would take a Christmas miracle to ensure that occurrence, and while I may be able to provide mistletoe, I am no miracle worker. Still though, it would be nice to simply enjoy it, if only I was not certain that he will most likely be leaving after the holidays. He has given no inclination that he would stay in Meryton after Christmas, and I overheard him tell Caroline that he needs to go south to Kent as soon as possible after the holiday. This is his first Christmas away from his sister, who wished very much to spend it in Rosings Park with their cousin, Anne._

Her musings thus dampened her enthusiasm, but did much to help her keep a clear head when presented with the fact that Mr. Darcy was very close to her side indeed, and in truth his warmth had seeped through her coat, leaving her much aware of his presence.

"Tell me, Mr. Collins, do you find the tradition of mistletoe to be at odds with your church training?" Charlotte asked, drawing Elizabeth's attention.

This, of course, set Mr. Collins into a long monologue about the use of mistletoe by pagan societies and the meanings that had been ascribed to the plant. It turned out that Mr. Collins was quite well-educated upon the subject and made several inroads into the cultures of both Celts and Vikings by the time the carriages left the roadway and ventured onto the untrampled lane that led to the Miller farm.

This arrested the conversation entirely, for Elizabeth was called upon to verify that they were on the correct road. She verified that they were, and Darcy took advantage of the lull in conversation to ask with some interest, "So tell me how it came to pass that this good farmer will allow you the luxury of these woods, yet he permits no one else?"

Elizabeth blushed and murmured something noncommittal about once doing his family a service, but it was Mary who truly answered, bringing all eyes to her visage. Indeed, they had mostly forgotten that she was there until this moment, with the possible exception of Mr. Darcy, who was seated beside her.

"Lizzy acted as nursemaid to Mrs. Miller through a very difficult illness two summers ago, until she finally passed. Mr. Miller fully credits Lizzy with the survival of his children, as none of them grew ill and she kept them all fed when their mother could not get out of bed."

It was painfully obvious to all except Mary that this blunt recounting of the situation, and in such succinct terms, had shocked the male members of her audience. Charlotte, of course already knew the story, and thus it was not a surprise. However, death was not typically treated with such casual disregard in higher society.

Mr. Darcy's expression tightened and he averted his gaze to some distant point above Mr. Collins' head that only he seemed able to perceive. Elizabeth cringed inwardly, though she did not show it.

"It was not nearly half as noble as all of that," Elizabeth objected with a sharp glance at her younger sister. "I only came to visit as often as I was able, and brought what things that would assist Mr. Miller in feeding his young ones through a difficult time."

Unintimidated by the glare, Mary huffed in disbelief and argued, "You purchased and brought them foodstuffs from the market, helped to prepare their meals since they haven't a cook, taught the younger ones how to wash and dry their own clothes, tidied up after them and even slept beside Mrs. Miller's sickbed when she was in her final days, that her husband and children would not have to bear the awful results of her illness alone. She even," Mary directed her whispered final words at Mr. Collins and Darcy, "washed Mrs. Miller's hair, that she might feel more like herself even when she could not."

"Mary!" Elizabeth and Charlotte chastised her at the same moment, their voices blending as one. "That is not proper conversation, and the gentlemen would not like to be subjected to the details of a dying woman's washing!" Charlotte finished with a blush.

Mortified, Elizabeth wished nothing more than to die of embarrassment herself. She did not want Mr. Darcy to think of her washing _anyone's_ hair, much less a stranger's. It was simply undignified.

Luck was with them for at that moment the carriage drew to a halt in front of the farmhouse and a tumble of children flew through the door to greet them. Thankful for the distraction, Elizabeth threw the carriage door open nearly before it had stopped rolling and flung herself from its interior in her haste to escape the conversation. The Miller children crowed in delight and ran to her, throwing their arms about her waist.

She hugged each of them back in turn, apologizing that she had not been to see them in some time. Mr. Miller's new wife greeted her from the doorway with a wave, and Mr. Miller simply watched the procession with a smile. For Elizabeth's part, she took perhaps longer than necessary with her happy hellos, for she held a certain fondness for them and was thankful to see them looking so well. It had nothing at all to do with the pensive look that Mr. Darcy had given her upon the completion of Mary's story, or so she told herself.

The remaining occupants of the carriage disembarked and came to stand beside Elizabeth in the chilly air, waiting their turns for introductions. Elizabeth hastily made them, then explained what they were about.

"I have no objection to you searching the woods for whatever you like, Miss Bennet. I think there are several likely places that you might find a patch or two, but the children would know better than I. Tom!" Mr. Miller called his oldest son over, a young boy of about fourteen or so. "Tom, Miss Bennet would like your assistance in collecting mistletoe for her ball. Show her where the best patches are, all right?"

The boy agreed easily enough and was soon bounding back out of the house, dressed in his warmest clothes.

"It's just in the big old copse of woods on the other side of the pond, beyond the pasture, Miss Lizzy. I think I showed you the one back when Ma was alive."

Caroline heard him from her spot beside the fire, having already been seated and poured a cup of fortifying hot tea. "That far? Charles, I thought it would be already cut for us and we simply had to pick it up! I simply cannot ruin this hem by traipsing through the woods, all in search of some silly leaves! This is a footman's job, not mine!"

She turned her head away, dismissing the very notion of going herself.

"You and the other ladies are welcome to wait here by the fire while the gentlemen fetch the decorations they are looking for," Mrs. Miller offered generously.

Caroline eagerly agreed and the sentiment was shared by Mary, whose thin frame was already shivering from the walk between the carriage and house. Jane had to be urged to remain inside as well, and only agreed once Bingley came forward and asked her to do so as a special favor to him, since she had so recently been ill. A little stunned by the forcefulness of his objection, she sank meekly onto the settee, all in agreement to such a suggestion. Elizabeth nearly laughed to see her sister suddenly so demure, as Jane never would have given in so easily had Elizabeth asked such a thing.

She thanked Mr. and Mrs. Miller for their hospitality, then joined the rest of the group outside. Already Lydia and Kitty were racing through the snow, pausing to throw snowballs at the Miller children who responded back with violent glee, precipitating quite the war on that particular hillside.

"You do not mind the cold walk through the snow?" Darcy asked as he took Elizabeth's arm to help her over the stile into the field beyond.

"Why would I?" she laughed, and wondered from his expression if he had suddenly recalled another such walk that had taken her to Netherfield not that long ago, after her sister had fallen ill. Granted, it had not been snowing at the time, but snow and rain were simply the same thing in different forms.

"Why would you indeed?" he responded. There was a hint of approval in his tone.

Elizabeth blushed and looked away, pretending interest in what her sisters were doing, though it was nearly impossible to divert her attention when he spoke like that. At least this version of Mr. Darcy, while confusing, was not the morose creature that he had been since Christmas was first mentioned. Indeed, the different aspects of his personality were fascinating, and she found herself desiring to understand all of them, but most of all, the happy, laughing man that he had been on the street in Meryton.

Now if only she could convince that portion of him that the coming Christmas was something to be anticipate with eagerness, and not something to dread, as he believed the rest of the time.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 5

He had absolutely no idea why he had come, other than Miss Bennet had asked it of him.

Darcy had little liking for large noisy gatherings, and here he was in the thick of one. All for the sake of a pair of fine eyes and dazzling smile, both phrases he was coming to regret having thought. Well, perhaps not regret, but surely belabor, to a point.

Ahead of him, the children ran through the snow as though it were a rare treat. Perhaps it was. He, himself, could not remember ever being allowed this freedom with the neighboring children, for his life had been rather sedate. Georgiana was too young to play in the snow during his formative years, and by the time she was interested, he was caught up with more mature pastimes.

"Comport yourself with pride," his father had always declared, his personal answer to everything in life from posture to politics. The young Darcy had never been allowed to slouch.

Now he felt a certain envy, the way he had as a boy when he had watched others play with such abandon. His hands had rarely formed a snowball, and he had only thrown them at the trees and benches in the garden. Elizabeth Bennet's young sisters, however, seemed to have a clearly developed, no, nearly uncanny sense of accuracy when it came to hitting their targets. It took hardly any time at all before the Miller boys seemed to be entirely made of snow, so thoroughly covered with it they were.

The girls, he noticed, were relatively unscathed.

"It is a shame really," Elizabeth remarked, following his gaze. "The boys dare not hit them, because not only are they of the fairer sex, but because of the fine distinctions of class between them. I wonder if it would not be better if they could simply play."

Charlotte laughed as she overheard them. "At their age? I should say your mother would have several choice words to say about great big girls like that acting so much like children still. She would say they are much too old for such nonsense."

Elizabeth made a face. "Then it is a good thing she is not here. Why should they not enjoy their youth for as long as possible, before they are forced to turn into fine ladies like ourselves?" At this she bent suddenly and scooped a handful of snow which quickly formed into a hard ball in her hands.

Charlotte shrieked and ducked behind Mr. Collins. "Lizzy, you would not dare!"

"Fear not, my lady, I will defend your honor!" Mr. Collins cried, surprising them all by placing himself solidly between the two ladies in exactly the right moment to receive a face full of snow.

Elizabeth stood there, absolutely crimson with mortification. Darcy could not help it. To see her so embarrassed, so astonished at the course that her snowball had taken, had him bursting into laughter. However, it ended abruptly when a well-packed missile sailed beside him, nearly hitting his ear.

"There! I have defended your honor, good sir!" Charlotte cried out. It was impossible to miss the satisfaction in her voice, nor the laughter.

Darcy turned his head to look at Collins.

Collins looked right back at him.

In an instant they both had bent and were scrambling to create their own projectiles.

"Tell me how one goes about doing this!" Darcy called to Elizabeth as the first snowball exploded against his shoulder.

"Have you not made snowballs before?"

His eyes came up. "Do I appear as though I have ever prepared a snowball before?"

"Good heavens!" Elizabeth yelped as a snowball came near to hitting her as she grabbed Darcy and pushed him behind a tree. "The first rule of warfare is to never leave yourself exposed."

"And the second?" he asked, examining the lumpy mass in his hand that looked nothing like what the others were throwing.

"Choose your allies carefully," she declared and dumped a handful of snow down the back of his neck.

It might have been a rout then and there had Bingley not turned and seen what was going on. With a wild shout of, "I shall save you, Darcy!" he joined into the fray.

In that moment, Darcy envied Bingley, not for the first time, his ability to just relax and have fun.

Within moments the battle lines were drawn. Charlotte's brother joined Mr. Collins in defense of the ladies, along with the Miller boy, but the younger Bennets had no such qualms about taking sides with Bingley and Darcy against their elder sister or her friend. Lydia targeted Collins with perhaps a shade too much enthusiasm, sending that good man's hat straight into a snowdrift.

Darcy found that while he might have lacked in practice, he quickly learned how to round out his ammunition and that aiming was not nearly as difficult as he had initially thought. His first few throws went wide, of course, but soon enough he was taking a certain satisfaction in hitting his targets the fair majority of the time.

Not that he did not remain a gentleman throughout the game, for while Miss Bennet had no qualms about surprising him with that handful of snow, he found that he was wholly unwilling to hurl it back at her. He instead focused his attacks on Mr. Collins and the boys, thinking it too familiar to attack the ladies of the group so directly, even if they had no such reservations about using him as a particularly favorite target.

The snow flew fast and furious and for a time they forgot about mistletoe and the ball until at last it was Collins himself who called the truce, having been given such a solid thrashing that he might have been a snowman standing there.

"I say, perhaps we had best call it a draw and finish the task at hand. I find myself ravenously hungry after so much exercise and I wager that the ladies will grow cold before long."

That they were all still warm from the exercise mattered little, for Elizabeth and Charlotte both knew his words to be true, so the group ceased the war agreeably enough. If a snowball or two still found its way through the air to pat softly against an unwary shoulder or knee, well, then such was the fun of traipsing through the snow with children, and none complained about their happy antics. In truth, Darcy smiled more than he had in a long time, and was glad suddenly that he had come, even if he was deuced cold under his wet clothes.

Elizabeth had remembered correctly - there was mistletoe aplenty in the woods. Freddie Lucas and the Miller boys were willing enough to climb the trees and knock down bunches of the plant, which Darcy and Bingley gathered up with the linen bags they had brought for just such occasion. It did not take long before they had all that they needed, and were quite happy with the fruits of their labor.

The group that headed back to the house was quieter than the one that went out, but it was a jovial sort of silence, begotten by hours of playing and gathering. Spirits remained high even though they were all tired and hungry, and Mr. Darcy found Elizabeth at his side once more. Indeed, she had been there nearly every time he had searched for her that day, or at least she had not been far removed as she helped gather mistletoe or played in the snow, and he marveled at how reassuring her presence was. Despite their many differences, he found a strange comfort and joy in her company that he had never before experienced with the fairer sex. That she kept returning seemed like a miracle that left him tongue-tied and unsure of what to say.

She, though, had no such difficulty. But then Elizabeth Bennet was not one to wait on words. With a glance as to how far they were from the rest, she tilted her head in his general direction, fastened that pretty gaze upon his face and asked the one thing that he had rather hoped she would not.

"Have you given any further thought to Christmas?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 6

She watched the light fade from his eyes.

Everything had been going so incredibly well right up until Elizabeth had so casually interjected the word 'Christmas' into the conversation. All day long she had had it in her mind that if he only could start looking forward to Christmas, he would find it less objectionable. This outing, expressly arranged to procure decorations for the ball, had felt like so much progress.

However, Darcy made no answer to her question. As it frequently did when he was uncomfortable, his quickness of wit had deserted him, leaving nothing but wretched silence in its wake. Elizabeth felt the awkwardness growing between them and asked herself how one regained a camaraderie once lost. Desperately casting about for a topic, any topic, to discuss that would take the emphasis off of her previous question, she seized upon the first thing she saw - a small holly tree growing next to a thick hedge.

"Why surely this is just the thing to use in a centerpiece for the table. Have you ever seen anything so lovely?" she asked, making her way over to the prickly bush.

Darcy had to agree that it would be, for the bright green leaves contrasted so beautifully with the red berries against the snow that was still falling, that the plant stood out quite well. It was a wonder the others had missed it, for by now they were quite a bit further ahead of them.

Darcy examined it with a somewhat resigned air. "I suppose it is attractive enough, though I should imagine that the one who picks it will find it unpleasantly thorny."

"Would you not say that it is the thorns that protect the plant from the ravages of the world around it?" she reached out to touch a glossy leaf carefully with a gloved finger. "But the treasure is very much worth it, should one be bold enough to dare to get past the sharp points."

Darcy made a sound at that which might have been taken in a variety of ways as he came to stand next to her and unsheathed the simple knife he carried. "Allow me. Your gloves are too fine for such a task as this. I would not have you hurt." With a single swift stroke, he cut a branch and lifted it gently, wincing a little as he did so. His expression was so aggrieved that Elizabeth could not help but laugh.

"The secret is in knowing how to handle the plant properly," she declared, taking it gently from his hands and turning it so that she could carry it without gaining so much as a scratch. "Only then you will find the reward."

This time the sound he made was clearly derisive, but he cut another piece all the same, and, taking the first from her, found a way to carry it that protected both the bright berries of the holly plant and the one who bore it.

"Imagine how lovely Netherfield will look when it is decorated!" Elizabeth said after a few steps, trying once more to regain their previous ease. "My sisters and I have tried to picture it over the years, for we have never had the pleasure of seeing the house during the holidays. The previous owner did not entertain."

"It is a wonder that he survived in the neighborhood," Mr. Darcy replied in a droll tone. "However did he manage?"

Elizabeth shot Darcy a reproachful look. "Not at all well. One who does not make himself agreeable to those around him, might well be left to himself."

"One could only hope…" Darcy said, then laughed when he saw her expression. "Yes, Miss Bennet, the warning is duly noted. Now, what shall we take home next for your pleasure? Should it be yonder cow? We could perhaps set up a Christmas story display in the courtyard with a few artfully placed sheep to set the tone."

Elizabeth's lips twitched with the effort to keep from laughing. "You may ridicule me all you like, but I have always felt the addition of a goat here and there could do much for some courtyards," she replied with a wink. "Or perhaps a rooster, to ensure that the inhabitants of the grand houses awaken at a reasonable hour."

"Ho, that would be a sight, would it not? Watching a rooster crow Bingley straight out of bed. I daresay he would immediately abandon his dream of becoming a landowner and return to London at once."

"Well, we could not have that, now could we?"

"Indeed not. I fear your sister would be much aggrieved. Back to the subject at hand, I understand that in some cultures there are festivals that involve acting out the Christmas story, animals and all."

"I should like to see that," Elizabeth said softly, her tone wistful perhaps, but she had always longed to see the world away from Longbourn. "Sometimes I forget there is so much more to see than these rolling hills."

They had reached the stile. Darcy tried to juggle the prickly holly and still offer a hand to Elizabeth that she might climb over, but could not manage both without dropping one or the other. She laughed and proved that she was quite capable of managing on her own, to which he seemed almost chagrined.

"Have you been to London then?" he asked when she had reached the other side.

"Once, briefly. I should like to go again, I think. I suppose you are there often."

"I am," he agreed. "In fact I am expecting to receive a letter sooner or later about an investment that will require my attention. The documents require my signature and I do not use a proxy if at all possible," he said, and she ceased walking, shocked by his implications. The wind gusted around them, the chilly air dusting them with snow once more.

"Will you return in time for the ball?" she demanded in indignation. "Do not tell me that you are planning this trip to London simply to make your escape! Who would you spend Christmas with, if not your dearest friend or family?"

He made no reply but his expression made it clear that he had been considering that very thing.

"I had not thought you so cowardly," she murmured, and his brows came together.

"If that is how you truly feel, then it is a wonder that you have anything to say to me at all with such a low opinion of my character."

"Pray excuse me, Mr. Darcy, but I was under the impression that _running away_ was what cowards typically do. Please, do educate me upon the subject." The sting in her words was perhaps sharper than she had intended, but she felt that the situation called for it. Here she was, struggling to make progress with him and inspire at least a modicum of happiness at the thought of Christmas together, only to discover that he was merely toying with her, and intended to duck out at the last minute, avoiding the ball altogether.

"You are not the one to whom I need to make my excuses," he said stonily, and she flinched.

"You are indeed, correct, sir. I am sorry to have wasted your time."

With that she marched past him and went into the house where the others were warming themselves with cups of tea near the fire. Oddly enough, she found she was shaking long after the chill burned off.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 7

For days, Elizabeth had been out of sorts. Christmas was fast approaching, and she had nearly decided that Mr. Darcy was a lost cause entirely. She had tried very hard to find ways to help him look forward to the holiday, only to be rebuffed in the rudest of terms.

At the same time, she wasn't altogether sure who owed whom an apology. She had said things as well that had been…well… rather pointed, in regards to the thorns upon the holly, and then to be so bold as to call Mr. Darcy a _coward_. She shook her head, for it did not bear thinking upon any more. It was done, no matter how much she regretted speaking in the heat of the moment. But there had been no opportunity to apologize for either of them, for she and Darcy had ended the expedition in different carriages in the rush to go home before the roads worsened from the snowstorm.

And worsen it had. There was now such a blanket of snow upon the ground that Mr. Bennet had sent the girls to Meryton in their own carriage rather than have them walk through the drifts. Elizabeth was especially grateful for this turn of events, as she had been charged with purchasing the supplies for Jane's Christmas gift, and it was much easier to conceal such goods when she could have them delivered to the carriage instead of carrying them around Meryton herself, which would surely give away the surprise.

It soon proved not to matter, regardless, for Jane was giddy enough that she was not likely to have noticed if her sisters had placed an entire elephant in the carriage with them, for she had received an invitation to tea at Netherfield Park just that morning, and they were happy to deliver her there instead. It was an occurrence that had been happening more and more often of late, thrilling not only Jane but also their esteemed mother with the implications of a growing attachment between Jane and the house's occupants.

Most of them, anyway.

Elizabeth tried to pretend that she was simply leaning out of the carriage to wave to her sister as they departed, but the truth was, she was looking for one rather tall and dark individual, likely with a dour expression and unpleasant disposition.

The grump.

However, Mr. Darcy was nowhere to be seen, leaving Elizabeth to wonder if he had already received his highly-anticipated letter, and was on his way back to London. The thought left her in an irritable mood.

However, he was soon forgotten, or at the very least pushed to the back of Elizabeth's mind in the flurry of greetings at Aunt Phillips' house after they completed their shopping. Mrs. Phillips had been waiting for the girls and drew them inside with a great deal of excitement over the task at hand, for the group would be finishing piecing together a quilt for Jane's hope chest, a gift that all were certain would be needed before long.

"It is so perfect! To think, an engagement at Christmas!" Kitty said, pretending to swoon upon the settee as the others unpacked the squares of fabric that they had been working on individually, that they might begin piecing them together.

"He is going to propose, then? He has spoken with Mr. Bennet about such an event already?" Mrs. Philips asked, with all the bright curiosity of one who lived on gossip more than she did on cake, which was saying something given her ample figure.

"He has not made any such advances," Elizabeth said firmly as she sat down and sought out her thimble from her sewing kit. "Nor is it a sure thing that he shall."

"Oh, Lizzy, how can you even say such a thing?" Lydia asked as she sorted through the pieces, laying each out upon the table in the order that they should go. "A man does not seek out the company of a woman time and again without having some meaning behind it."

"So says you, with all of your wisdom of eighteen years," Elizabeth scoffed while she threaded her needle.

Lydia looked up sharply. "I have a great deal more experience than you. I, at least, put an effort into being a pleasant companion for those around me, and as a result I am courted quite a bit more than you are."

Kitty laughed at this staunch proclamation, while Mary merely rolled her eyes, keeping her attentions upon the seam she was sewing. Her hands flew quickly over the work, as she was the best seamstress of the group. "There is some truth in what Lydia is saying, Lizzy dear. Though I am not altogether sure it is something that she should be boasting about," Mary said without looking up. "It might give someone the wrong idea."

Elizabeth huffed out a breath in annoyance and sharply reminded the others they were there to sew, were they not? The fact that they laughed at her again for changing the subject did little to improve her temper, nor did the interminable seams that somehow refused to remain straight, no matter how much effort she put into keeping them so. For the next two hours she kept her head down, listening to the gossip but refusing to take part. Thankfully, Mrs. Phillips had much news to impart and the time flew by reasonably quickly despite Elizabeth's struggles with her sewing.

Finally though, even Mrs. Philip's patience ran out as Elizabeth threw down the fabric she was piecing together and sat back, her arms crossed as if daring it to even think of not going together smoothly on her next attempt to piece it.

"Elizabeth, dear, can you please see what in the world is keeping the tea? I am certain that I told the maid to serve it at half past," Mrs. Phillips said, her tone a touch chiding. Elizabeth looked up sharply in consternation but had to recognize that she was creating more work than she was finishing, as her pieces lay strewn around her full of needle marks and tattered stitching. To make matters worse, all conversation in the room had ceased with Aunt Phillips' request, and each of her relations was regarding her with varying looks of pity.

"It is because Mr. Darcy did not ride with her on the way back from collecting the mistletoe," she heard one of her sisters whisper to the rest as she left to check on the tea.

It took every bit of Elizabeth's self-control not to turn around and lecture them all on the frivolities of assuming to know the feelings of her heart, but even she realized the folly in such an action. The fact that Mr. Darcy had ridden in the other carriage had not bothered her in the least. It was his own hateful attitude that had left her so heartbroken, and truth be told, she had been glad to be rid of him. Or so she told herself.

She stomped all the way to the kitchen, only to meet the servants coming along the other way so that there was a small amount of confusion in the hallway. It ended with Elizabeth pushing the tea cart back to the drawing room herself, and then insisting on serving the others since she had been making a mess of the sewing anyway.

"Perhaps it is time we all had a break," Mrs. Phillips said and so they retired with sandwiches and finger cakes to relax their fingers and look over the developing pattern. Lydia and Kitty, of course, ran straight to the window and stationed themselves where they might look out on the street outside, in hopes of catching sight of a redcoat or two.

"Truly does it not matter who you see, as long as any of them come by?" Mary asked curiously as the girls squealed over a fine pair of soldiers, then discovered a passing Highlander as well. His presence raised more than one eyebrow and set them on an entirely new discussion as to whether men in kilts were more or less attractive than men in uniform.

"Each to their own tastes," Mrs. Phillips said gaily as Kitty and Lydia scrambled for their coats to see if they could somehow garner an introduction. With a resigned sigh, Mary trailed after them, cast into the role of chaperone, leaving Elizabeth and Mrs. Phillips alone to finish the job of sewing the last seams themselves.

"Thankfully there is little enough left to do," Elizabeth said as she stood back to study the bright array of shapes that made up a graceful design. It was a lovely quilt that would do any hope chest proud, and Elizabeth was certain that Jane would be delighted with the gift.

"It is a lovely project, is it not?" Mrs. Phillips agreed as she settled in to sew the pieces that Elizabeth had cast aside but moments ago.

"It took so long to make…" Elizabeth said, stroking the fabric almost wistfully.

"The things that are most worthwhile, often do. But look what loveliness has resulted when the time and effort were expended."

"We are not talking about quilts, are we?" Elizabeth asked, sitting down to sew the final piece in place.

"Quilts. Life. Lovers. They are all the same. They each give back what we put into them."

Elizabeth flinched. "And you are saying I am not putting the effort in where I should?"

"I am saying that perhaps you are going about things all wrong. Look at this piece." Mrs. Phillips held up a square, showing the thin place in the fabric from where the stitches had been ripped out more than once. "There will always be a weakness here, where this was torn so hastily. Thankfully the piece will be near the center where the damage will not show, and will have the fabric around it to support it, but it will not be the same for such careless usage, will it?"

Elizabeth winced, blinking back sudden tears. "You are saying that one cannot make mistakes then."

"I am saying that had you perhaps proceeded with more care once you realized the mistake was made, you might have removed the stitches without damaging the fabric. You must exercise patience in this world, my girl. And kindness. And most of all, when you have wronged someone, be careful how you go about trying to repair the damage. Your actions matter more than you think."

Oh, what had she done? _Darcy._ How terribly she had treated him. She opened her mouth to reveal all, to beg her aunt to help her find her way out of the situation she had placed herself into, but Mrs. Phillips' attention had been drawn to the windows and the group approaching her front door.

"Heavens above, your sisters are back. And they seem to have brought a regiment with them! Hannah! We shall need more tea! And cakes! Oh, dash it all, we might as well have the entire group to dinner. Elizabeth, help me clean this all up. We can finish later."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 8 part 1

How it was that Lydia and Kitty managed to acquaint themselves with officers was a mystery to Elizabeth. Of course she knew Denny from previous excursions into town, but the others were new to her. One in particular caught her eye – not the kilted fellow who was visiting from the Scottish regiment, who spoke with such a thick brogue that no one seemed to be quite sure what he was saying. But another, a tall and rather handsome individual, who managed to fit into the group with an ease to be admired, although it seemed he was a comparative stranger to all.

As luck would have it, Mr. Wickham latched onto Elizabeth at dinner and seemed quite pleased to be assigned as her companion for the evening. While Elizabeth was initially unsure about the arrangements, he turned out to be an engaging companion, especially in regards to his initial impressions of Meryton.

The meal progressed with a jolly tone from all, for the excitement of the coming holiday and discussion of the Christmas ball at Netherfield Park quickly became the prime topics among the group. Here there was no room for maudlin thoughts as plans were made and dance cards were metaphorically filled. Elizabeth hid a smile, for she held no doubt within her mind that both Lydia's and Kitty's dance cards would be fully occupied long before they even set foot in the parlor of Netherfield Park.

"It is a shame that not everyone can hold a Christmas spirit," Lydia remarked as they broke from the dining table and made their way back to the sitting room for a game of cards.

"Why, who here is failing in that? For everyone I see is quite eager for the holiday!" Wickham answered in some surprise as the table was set up.

"Here maybe, but not everywhere," Lydia continued. "You shall see him for yourself at the ball, I suppose. Our host has a most troublesome friend – a Mr. Darcy – who becomes quite frightful every time the very word 'Christmas' is spoken."

"Lydia!" Elizabeth shot her sister a look, causing Lydia to leave off with a sulky pout. Cheeks flaming, Elizabeth apologized to the group, lest word reach the Bingley household of such uncharitable thoughts regarding their esteemed guest.

"Think nothing of it," Wickham said quietly beside her. "None here will think anything of it, and anyone who knows Mr. Darcy would well expect such behavior."

Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. "Do you know Mr. Darcy, then?"

"Quite well actually. We grew up near one another, though we were obviously not of the same social circles."

The card players were settling in with much exuberance, yet when Kitty called out for her to join them, Elizabeth hesitated. She was not altogether sure her mood was repaired enough for the forced intimacy of the card game, and in truth she wanted to question Mr. Wickham further in regards to his relationship with Mr. Darcy.

The decision was made for her, by none other than Mr. Wickham himself. "Your sister has been most kind in promising to explain to me the intricacies of your society here at Meryton. If it is quite all right with you, we will remain seated here on the settee where we might watch the game, yet our conversation might continue uninterrupted."

For the second time that night Mr. Wickham had surprised her. While Elizabeth was only too pleased to escape from the card game, and even sit and discuss Meryton with him, it occurred to her that he had something of a high-handed nature, and it would have been nice to at least been asked before presuming upon such familiarity.

So it was she was slightly out of sorts as he motioned for her to have a seat and found herself delaying over small tasks, such as asking Heather, the maid, to fetch more cookies from the kitchen, and then fussing over the fire. At last she could think of no more excuses and sat, looking at him with a curiosity about what in her small town could hold so much interest.

"What do you wish to know, Mr. Wickham? For I am sure that Lydia could tell you much more than I, for it is she who has a finer sense of the small intricacies of life in Meryton," she said, with a nod toward her sister who sat at the card table. Mary looked up at this comment, for she knew it was a rather pretty way of being thought to be a gossip, a point that she could not reasonably argue away.

"But does she know as much about Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Wickham replied with a smile that seemed not as pleasant as she had perhaps found it to be the first time he had bestowed it upon her. "Ah, I can see by your face that is not the case. I wonder if there are things you could tell me about our Mr. Darcy that perhaps even I do not know."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 8 pt 2

Elizabeth flushed, for even she had been wondering this of late, as she had a sense on occasion that Mr. Darcy had been letting her see little bits of himself that few had. However, that ended abruptly enough, and she doubted would ever be the case again.

"There is little I know about him," she answered finally, for it was true enough. The details of his life had only been sketched out in the barest of sentences whenever she had asked, and the rest she had drawn from her conversations with the others at Netherfield. "He is a rather private man."

Mr. Wickham laughed. "Which is to say he holds himself closed off from the rest of us. I would suspect a prejudice against those of us who are seen to be more common than he, but then there are little of his equal, are there not?"

"Perhaps he is right to hold what pride he does!" Elizabeth protested. "The fact that he is a man of means does raise him somewhat above those who he is surrounded by, with the exception of Mr. Bingley himself. Unless you have at least 4,000 pounds a year," she added a touch wickedly for it was quite obvious to her that Mr. Wickham harbored a certain jealousy of Mr. Darcy and his finances.

Wickham colored a bit at that and coughed. "All the pounds in the world could not make him agreeable. Nor could he possibly be considered Bingley's equal when he has more than double what Bingley makes in a year, and I assure you, he has most definitely let Mr. Bingley know it. He uses all of those many pounds as a way of exerting his will, even when it is disagreeable to others in his company. I would have you know that his father had promised me a position that was denied me upon that good man's death…"

Elizabeth gave him a hard look, for she was seeing the cracks in the veneer of Mr. Wickham's character and regretting greatly having sat down with him at all. "Which does not explain your comments regarding Mr. Darcy's dislike of Christmas at all," Elizabeth reminded him, taking a shortcut through what was starting to be a long meandering conversation with no small amount of manipulation behind Mr. Wickham's words.

She supposed that she should not have entertained any of what he said at all, as being truthful, or at least not unbiased. The way he had brought the conversation back around to Darcy more than once suggested a grudge of some sort. But in every bit of gossip was a grain of truth, and at this moment she found herself at quite a loss to explain Mr. Darcy's aversion of the holiday. She needed a new direction, something to at least provide a clue as to his behavior so she would know how to solve it. Christmas would be fast upon them, and it would not be the same if he left.

Mr. Wickham was taking a long time to answer. She studied him now, seeing the flaws in his handsome face, the slight downturn to his lips, the weakness of his chin, how he looked around the room in such a hard and calculating way. When he looked at her, there was nothing sincere in the flattery with which he couched his words.

"Miss Bennet, I can see for myself what a keen and discerning mind you have. Doubtless you have already noted his aversion to the holiday, perhaps you have seen the depression that comes over him. Is it any wonder with the loss he has suffered that he would feel so?"

"Loss…" Elizabeth shuddered. Suddenly she realized that this was a story she didn't wish to hear through gossip. The conversation had become too personal, delving into details that were too intimate to share so callously.

She didn't like Wickham in this moment and rose on a pretense of passing the plate of cookies again, making sure that her aunt's guests were comfortable. She paused at the card table, noting the way that Lydia's eyes went to the man in the corner more than once, her fascination with Mr. Wickham so plain to see that Lizzy's heart beat fast within her chest.

"You would do well to stay away from him," she murmured, as she brushed past the girl, but knew it was likely that she wouldn't listen. Lydia never listened where her soldiers were concerned.

Thankfully her aunt asked for her help with another task and Elizabeth was never given a chance to sit down with Mr. Wickham again, a fact that left her feeling more than a little grateful toward her relation, who seemed to have also taken a dislike to this particular guest. Together they watched in concern as the card game broke up and the tables were shoved aside in favor of creating room for an impromptu Highland dance, as demonstrated by their new Scottish friend while Mary provided music upon the pianoforte.

"We would do well to watch that one," Mrs. Philips said with a nod in the direction of Mr. Wickham as he danced with Lydia. Her head was close to Elizabeth's, careful lest anyone else should overhear what she had to say. "I would not trust him at all."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 9

Their evening came to an amiable close not long after. The carriage was brought around and the entire party said their farewells while the officers insisted upon escorting the ladies to their seats, all while planning to meet again.

Elizabeth, however, was in no rush to leave. The night was cool but not unpleasant, and she liked the way the snow scrunched underfoot, making squeaking sounds as she walked. Leaving the others to their chatter, she walked a little apart, her head tilted back to look up at the stars, thinking what an utterly perfect evening it was, when the rasp of a gate from nearby caught her attention.

Idly, Elizabeth glanced over toward the churchyard, only to see a very familiar figure at the gate, carefully latching it behind him. He paused a moment, his attention on something within the churchyard, and for a moment she saw something in that pose that reminded her of what Mr. Wickham had said about loss.

 _Mr. Darcy…_

Her lips formed his name, but could make no sound. Was that a sad droop to his shoulders, a hesitance in his stride as he hurried away to another carriage waiting just down the street? For a moment Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to run after him, to discover what had caused the heaviness about his spirit that could only speak to a similar heaviness of heart, but to intrude upon his private grief seemed ill done. She watched as he got into the carriage without looking back, never even knowing that she was there.

With a sigh she turned to go back to her own group and found that her steps had carried her forward after all, and that she had wandered close to the church gate herself.

Curious at what had caught his attention as he had left, she tried to look within the churchyard proper but saw only the gravestones, each lonely and desolate, half buried beneath the snow.

Save one.

One stone had been marked and stood out from the others. The had been brushed away, and a flower had been recently laid across its top, marking it with the care and attention that one would pay to a loved one.

A quick glance back toward her aunt's house showed that she was not missed. In fact, judging by the lively conversation in the street, no one was likely to leave for the next half hour at least.

 _I am only curious to see whose stone that is,_ she told herself, and slipped through the gate herself, wincing when it again shrieked its protest at having been disturbed. Luckily enough, no one else seemed to have heard it and Darcy was long gone, and thus could never possibly know that she was following in his footsteps.

Still, it felt intrusive, stepping into the silent graveyard. Never before had she realized what a lonely place the cemetery was, but then, she had never visited alone, at night, before.

Elizabeth shivered, and hurried down the path to the stone she'd seen from the gate. It was easy to find, right alongside the path that led to the church. On top lay a single red rose.

 _Oh, Darcy._

Terrified to look, but unable to bear the suspense of not knowing, Elizabeth bent, trying to see the name in the soft moonlight.

The name broke her heart.

 _Cecelia Dowd._

Elizabeth's fingers traced the letters before straightening. Suddenly she felt a hundred years old.

How could she have ever forgotten Cecelia? They had been the same age, and had, in fact, known each other well. Had it truly only been a year since she had died after having caught an illness while in London for the holidays? She had died during the winter, not long after Christmas, a perfect tragedy that had left her family so heartbroken that they had left Meryton and gone elsewhere entirely.

Cecelia had been bright and vivacious, with golden-blonde hair and a ready smile. It seemed the she had always been laughing at something or another, and bringing those around her to happiness as well. It made perfect sense that Darcy would have known her, that he would have been drawn to her, as everyone else had been. It was no wonder that he had been so serious since his arrival in Meryton, and no surprise that he chose to come here at all. How could he ever possibly have laughed with Elizabeth when his reason for joy was buried here, in this lonely churchyard?

Elizabeth could not bear to stay another moment. This was the price of curiosity. She had been no less intrusive than Mr. Wickham and she was ashamed as she fled the churchyard, slamming the gate behind her perhaps harder than necessary.

Heart hurting, she joined the others, who teased her about being maudlin and visiting graveyards in the dark. But she could not join in their easy banter about ghosts, for she was already haunted. The specter of Cecelia hung over her. What business had she had in trying to force merriment upon a man grieving?

 _I have been wrong, so terribly wrong._ Silent and morose, Elizabeth could not work up the enthusiasm for chatter on the ride home. Even Lydia's teasing about Elizabeth's trying to keep Mr. Wickham for herself by warning Lydia away failed to engage her, though in retrospect it should have.

No. Elizabeth's thoughts were beyond even that. In her mind she had followed Darcy home to Netherfield Park, feeling the weight of his grief all the way there, and wondered at how he could possibly endure the brightness of the holiday, when he was so obviously still trapped in the darkness of his grief.


End file.
